


He is 20.

by Suscitat



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, dad-dracula, dadula, emotional vampire, he is still mean tho, i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 08:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16281281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suscitat/pseuds/Suscitat
Summary: An imagining of how Alucard's interactions go in the first and fourth episodes, as well as a possible look into his life before everything fell to shit.





	He is 20.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a massive amount of feelings about Castlevania and my head runs a Km a minute. This is more or less me playing around with how things could have gone.  
> Im pulling a lot out of my ass here but here we go.

His fingers glide along the keys. A sombre melody drifts from the great grand piano, a hint of arrogance underlining the sad feeling. It’s impressive. Or at least his father is impressed. “Look at him” he trills excitedly at his darling wife. “He’s barely 5 Lisa, he’s wonderful”. His darling mother smiles sweetly at her two favourite boys as he is lovingly scooped into his darling father’s arms. Giggles fall from the child’s lips as he is tickled by the monster Dracula.

He’s 10 and he’s read 1/3 of the library. He reads all sorts of things. Medicine, botany, religion, art, history and everything in between. Music and Magic remain his favourite though. He chews through musical theory like a dog would a steak. Takes to magic like no one his father had ever seen. His father has walked in on him floating mid-air, all sorts of conjurations surrounding his form, fire at his fingertips. His father is proud, he says so and they both go back to the library to find something fun to read. After that he plays a game of hide and seek in an upside down castle with the monster Dracula.

He’s 12 and coming into his vampiric abilities in full now. His blood boils under his pale skin, flushing his face an angry red. His gums hurt so much it makes him cry. He has never tasted human blood, merely synthesised plasma that keeps him going. His father makes it for him. His father is there to wipe away his reddening tears and offer him something cold for his gums. They sit atop a tower all night, the cool wind caressing his hot face delicately. He is comforted by the monster Dracula.

He’s 15 and in tears. He had left their house to meet with his usual small group of friends. Two don’t show up and it’s just him and his crush, a boy named Marco. He had never intended to let them know what he was for this very reason. But accidents happen and fangs so easily break the skin of another’s lips. His father holds him close. “Tell me happened”. His father coos. So he tells of how Marco found out what he is, how Marco ran and he followed, how he pulled Marco back and snapped his arm like a twig, how Marco screamed and cried until he slipped into the rushing river they so often played along. How he watched Marco be pulled under, frozen in fear, he cannot swim. His father looks sympathetic, his father wants to make him feel better. That night he is told many things by the monster Dracula.

He’s 17 and he’s leaving. His father and he had stayed up talking for many nights until this point. Planning how he would go into the world and help people like his mother. How his father would travel for a while like man does. They had laughed and joked in each other’s company. He and his father embrace for the last time on brilliant terms. He is told “be safe my son” by the monster Dracula.

He’s 19. No warm feelings anymore. He feels nothing as he rushes towards Targoviste, listening to his mother screaming. He gets there after it’s too late. Nothing he can do would save her. The crowd cheers and he cries far behind them. He wants to scream, rage at the humans and tear them apart just like he knew he could. Fire tingles at his fingertips and the beast within roars. Then he hears her. “Don’t hurt them, they don’t understand”, he pulls at his hair and almost wishes she would not ask this of him or his father. “I know it’s not your fault but if you can hear, they don’t know what they’re doing, be better than them, Please”. She lets out a pained scream and his body goes ridged. He leaves before he hurts anyone. He runs then, faster than his paws have ever carried him before. He needs to get away, so far away from everything. 

He sees the castle, its great towers looming. There is no dread though, only a vague feeling of home. And fear for what’s to come. He seeks out his father, craving comfort he knows he will find. Pushing open the large doors seem harder than they have ever been, but he continues on the meandering path to his father’s study. 

Light floods the study, bounces off the ever shifting mirror in its centre, illuminating his distraught father. His father turns to him, face broken and enraged. This doesn’t bother him, he feels his father’s rage, understands the pain his mother’s words will put them through. So he near floats toward his father, collapses in his embrace and merely holds him too.

“A year, that’s all we need my young one”, his father’s words, tight as they are with unbridled rage, confuse him and he pulls back enough to show it. “A year and all those pathetic sheep shall be gone, slaughtered and made to know true pain”.

He pulls away completely now. “What do you mean?” he implores, his tone seemingly hurt withing his confusion. “It will take me a year to summon an army from the guts of hell itself, and then all will right once more”, in his rage, his father seems to almost be mad.

And for a second, a split second that would forever haunt him, the idea warmed his heart. Made him feel something other than unending sorrow. His head however quickly pulled back from the fall. “But, you heard mother, didn’t you? She asked us-“. 

“That doesn’t matter! Don’t you see Adrian, this will be for her”

“That will make us no better than them!” he plead. “If you do this, how many innocent lives will be lost-“

His father let out a laugh seeped in malice. “There are no innocents out there! Any one of them could have stood up and said no, we won’t behave like animals anymore” 

His father’s harsh tone frightens him, even so he can’t let this happen. He steps back, distancing himself from an unknown reaction given the state of emotions. “I won’t let you do this, I grieve as you do, please believe that, but I cannot let this happen, I won’t let you commit genocide for the deeds of one!”

“So be it” He hears.

Then agonising pain is all he can feel. His emotions are running wild and his head pains along with the promise of blood loss. The gash along his chest floods his hands with blood in its ugly, heaving wake. He is sure if he was morbid enough he would be able to feel his ribs. He’s dying, he knows this but he pushes through and drags himself to Gresit, hoping the blood clotted bandages hold until he’s safe.

Somehow he stays awake enough to float past the old everything before him. He doesn’t remember why this is here, why his father’s technology is beneath Gresit, or rather he can’t now, can’t spare the energy to try. He’s sloppy at sticking the thick needle from the blood tanks into his shaking arm. As he lays down in the coffin tears fall freely down his cheeks, run into his hair, it’s not going to be pretty when, or rather if he wakes up. Just before passing out he comes to terms with the fact that he was nearly killed by the monster Dracula.

He’s still so tired when he hears voices. His chest still aches and his hands are still shaky. A man and a woman seem to be the owners of mentioned voices, his head tries to block them out with no success. He hears a hiss and all of a sudden the heavy lid of the coffin is sliding off with a grating scrape. He wants ball in on himself, screw his eyes shut and go back to his dead silence. The voices get closer, he can properly hear words but refuses to give them meaning. As the footsteps follow up the few stairs and stop at the foot of his coffin, he tenses. Playing dead as it were. 

“This is your saviour?” there’s a biting disbelief in the male’s voice and the female stays quiet for a bit. “This…I don’t understand, this can’t be”. She sounds sad and he feels slightly guilty. “Well this is great, just fucking perfect” the male’s footsteps lead away from him and without thinking he relaxes slightly. The woman makes a noise of surprise. “Trevor! He moved”. The male, Trevor he now knows stomps back and probably looks him over. "What do you mean he moved?” he knows the play is up and he slowly opens his eyes. The male and female argue while he stares up at them. 

They’re young, older then him but still young. The female wears the robes of the speakers whereas the man proudly displays the Belmont family crest. A speaker and a Belmont walk into a mausoleum. It’s a bad joke if ever he’s heard one. They haven’t noticed him yet, odd considering how taken they seemed a short time ago. He plays with the idea of just sitting up, but then remembers who the Belmont’s are and what he must look like, covered in his own blood, hair crusted in tears and the like. 

He does the next best, hopefully least startling, thing and clears his throat gently. They pause and look down at him, eyes wide with surprise. He offers them an equally doe eyed stare in return. “Hello” his voice sounds dragged and his throat aches to match. He hears the male mutter “oh Jesus” under his breath at the same time the female’s face breaks into a grin.

The female’s face drops just as quickly due to the male pulling a knife out and slamming it down directly above his heart. His brain is flimsy at best, but even he catches on fast enough to clumsily slide down to the bottom of his coffin and dart out of it. He doesn’t count on falling down the stairs just in front of him, but somehow he rolls onto his feet just at the male lunges again.

“Belmont no!” he hears the female cry as he dodges the next attack. His movement are clumsy though and the blade just nicks his arm. “He’s a vampire Sypha, look at the fucking clues!” the male sounds angry and he can’t blame him, he knows who and what the Belmont’s are.

He pulls his shit together for enough time to back step as far from the man as his hazy abilities allow. “Please can we just-“ he cuts himself off because the male is running at him, pulling a short sword out. He lets out and exasperated sigh. He doesn’t know whats going on, or why he’s awake again, and for the immediate moment he really doesn’t care. If the Belmont wants a fight he’ll give him one.

He lowers his stance, bracing for the Belmont’s attack and just before the blade meets any part of him he drops to the floor and kick’s him in the stomach. Part of him wants to crack his ribs but his conscious steps in and he just puts enough force in to send the Belmont flying over him. It’s going to leave one hell of a bruise though.

The Belmont comes out of his fall surprisingly gracefully, into a roll then back on his feet. And running straight for him again, curses dripping from his mouth. He doesn’t have the energy to call his sword to him, but he’s sort of okay fighting an enraged vampire hunter without it. Sort of.

The Belmont is good with a sword, exactly as expected from someone of a prestigious family. But He was trained by his father. While the man’s strikes are fast, some ever nicking at his skin, he is able to dodge them with some effort. By now calling his sword would be an excellent idea, then an opportunity presents itself. The Belmont leaves a gap and he is quick to jump in that gap fast enough that his opponent can do nothing. He grabs his opponent’s wrists and pulls them aside with enough force to almost dislocate something, then simply head butt’s his face, he’s not ashamed by how satisfied hearing cartilage crack made him.

He doesn’t stop there though. While the Belmont flails over his broken nose, he tackles him to the ground and once again takes hold of the Belmont’s wrists only now he pins them to the floor. “Can we talk now?” he asks, voice filled with something scathing. He is gifted a knee to the crotch for his diplomacy. So he easily slots himself flat against the squirming man, tightening his thighs in the process.

“I have nothing to say to a monster” spits the Belmont, struggling harder than before. “Well then it’s a good thing I’m not one, isn’t it?” he squeezes the wrists in his hands as a ‘ I Will break them’ warning before letting them go and darting back onto his feet. 

“If I had wanted you dead, that first kick would have done it”. The Female his next to him, she had moved during their tussle. He turns to her. “I’d like to say sorry for fighting your friend, but I have no intention of dying just yet”. He strolls back to his coffin as the female, Sypha his mind supplies, speaks. “Are you the one they talk of? The sleeping soldier?” he turns to look at her questioningly. “You mean like the speakers tale?” Sypha nods as she helps the Belmont to his feet.

He nods slowly. “The soldier will be woken by a scholar and a hunter, that’s the tale, yes?” Sypha smiles brightly. “So you know it” her tone is near elated and he looks at the two humans before him and shrugs. “If that’s what the tale says, I suppose I fit the bill, don’t I?” Even as he turns to his coffin he can feel the Belmont roll his eyes. “I don’t like this” is said low enough that he is not meant to hear. “Belmont, he is our fighting chance against Dracula, we need him, vampire or not”.

Dracula, now that caught his attention. He turns quickly to face them. Without thinking his hand gently touches the crusted scar along his chest as he speaks. “Has Dracula set the army loose?” Sypha nods gravely in response. “He’s levelled Targoviste” Belmont speaks quietly. “Gresit will soon be the same”, he adds as an afterthought.

He clenches his fists. “That bastard” he mutters. “Then Dracula is the great evil the tale speaks of” he intones before gently picking at the blood flaking across his chest. “How long have you been here, that wound looks new” chimes the Belmont somewhat accusingly. He shrugs. “What year is it?” “1476” offers Sypha and he nods. “Then a little less than a year and some days or months maybe, I thought maybe after time to brood he’d realise and not do this, but I was wrong”.

The Belmont quirks a brow. “So you knew that he was planning all this and you did what exactly!” he sighs tiredly before gesturing to his chest. “I almost died trying to stop him is what I did, what exactly did you do? Find a pub and drink, I can smell your liver failure from here” he sasses back causing Sypha to step in. “It doesn’t matter now, what’s done is done, it’s what we can do now that’s the matter. Now, are we going to argue all day or introduce ourselves?” he nods at her words before pulling a blood stained shirt on and speaking. “My name is Adrian Tepes, but I’d prefer Alucard if it’s all the same”.

The Belmont goes very still as Sypha speaks. “I am Sypha Belnades” when the Belmont says nothing she huffs. “And this is Trevor Belmont”. “Tepes, as in Dracula Tepes?” the Belmont nearly cuts her off in his haste. “Indeed” he agrees while pulling his coat on. “You’re his fucking child! Jesus Christ, this is just great, fucking lovely” the Belmont lets out a humourless laugh and even Sypha’s eyes widen. 

He senses their scepticism. “I don’t need to explain myself, but for the sake of trust, yes, Dracula is my father, his wife was my mother, but if it weren’t for her I wouldn’t be here, I’d probably be at his side and even though I know it’s wrong it’s really easy to get lost in grief when you watch your mother burn as something she was not. Instead I live by her last words”. His eyes went soft. “She begged my father and I not to kill them, you, she knew how people worked, how afraid of the church everyone was and probably still is, my father would have them stand against them, but even I know you can’t deny the church without being wiped out, ive seen it more than once”. His voice was soft, breathy and it seemed to satiate even the Belmont.

“Fine, but you misstep and its your head vampire”. He nodded at the Belmont’s words. Sypha let out a breath and nodded. “Then let’s go, I’m sure there is a lot between here and where we need to be”. He nodded while strapping his sword to his belt and walking over to the group. “Then let’s go”.

He’s 20 and on his way to kill his father.

**Author's Note:**

> i may have left out a few things here or there, but regardless i hope you enjoyed reading (:


End file.
